


...He Walks Into Mine

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Blowjobs, F/M, One Night Stands, POV Second Person, POV shift, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poor Kylo, Premature Ejaculation, Self-Harm, Smut, So don't say I didn't warn you, This is utter shit, kylo ren is very insecure ok, ol boring heterosexual missionary sex, reader is dfab but otherwise gender neutral, someone help this loser, you're a bartender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren isn't really sure who he is, anymore, but if the sex is good and the wine is cheap, does it really matter?</p><p>Or: you and kylo have a one night stand and he's v awkward</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ben Solo had died slowly, suffocating for over a decade, pushed further down with every rivulet of blood that he poured with his own hands, every life that left the galaxy by his doing. Ben Solo had died fighting against Kylo Ren. And Kylo Ren had died all at once.

He had killed him, and in doing so he felt himself die.

He had watched the body crumple, a heap of bone and sinew on frozen ground, heard him choke and sputter. He had waited. Nothing. The supreme leader was no more, long live the emperor.

He was finally free, freed from the shadow of his legacy and the bonds of his darkness. On the threshold of something great, something finally worthwhile. The constant buzzing was gone, the whispers creeping in from the corners of his mind, the echo of a hissed voice coaxing and commanding him at every moment.

His mind was empty and unfettered. For the first time in his waking life, he was facing the everyday terror of being all alone in the universe, and it terrified him.

Too old to not know who he was, what he wanted, where he was going. Too warped to start over, too guilty to be forgiven. The emperor, newly crowned, had sent him away, ostensibly to find himself. He knew why, really. So he ran.

It was a sleepy planet, one whose heat slowed the pace of life down to an aimless ramble, whose streets were lined with decaying mansions no one had the heart to repair, whose blood and emotions poured freely as its liquor. No one paid any mind to the dawn and death of civilisations here, where everything crumbled apart in the choking air and rising waters. It was a place for outcasts, hermits, and criminals. He fit in well.

He had taken to its anger quickly and readily, always in the thick of it, kicking and hacking his way through the flesh of men whenever he needed to hurt something. They were drunk. They didn’t feel it. Not really, anyway. Sometimes, after long hours, or in large numbers, they’d win. The taste of iron dripping into his mouth let him know he was still weak, fragile, useless.

He gained new scars quickly. Gone were the days of quick, clean cuts and burns – his body was littered with ripped flesh, chunks missing that had been torn out by knives or nails. The pain was good, he knew that, it had to be. Soon it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

* * *

He had taken to your bar, tucked underground at the edge of the vice district, a low-ceilinged room that glowed a soft amber in candlelight. Its softness was at odds with the clientele – the roughest, the angriest smugglers this side of the galaxy, the ones whose first interest was cruelty and second was crime. He sat more or less undisturbed in the corner each night, a casual and infrequent drinker at best, who was more interested in watching you, the pretty server who always winked at him as you handed over his glass. Once you had brushed your hand over his knuckles and he blushed almost as red as the wine.

He hadn’t meant to be trouble at your place, he honestly hadn’t. He didn’t start the fight that night, but he certainly put an end to it, bloodied, beaten, and blackened on the cantina floor. He usually sprang to his feet quickly. Not tonight.

Once the bouncer had chased the crowd away, you went to the body on the floor and did what anyone would do. You offered him a hand. Helped him up.

He was unsteady on his feet. There was a shard of glass in his side, poking through a bloodied tunic, and he pulled it out without a second thought, holding it up in the dim amber light. He cast a glance in your direction before wrapping it into a bloodied fist.

“I think this is a health hazard.”

It was the first time he’d spoken to you as a person, not just as the server behind the bar. His voice was low already, but so hoarse and unsteady that it took you a moment to register: it was a joke. He had pulled a chunk of glass from his mangled chest as you might brush a hair off your shoulder, and was joking about it.

“Uh, you’re probably right,” you agreed with a thin smile, “and you should probably get some help with that.”

He shrugged, wanting to say more, but uncertain of what to do.

“Yeah, I guess,” before leaving, walking out into the crushing, cloying heat of the night. He knew he shouldn’t go back again, not to yet another place he wasn’t welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((shhh i hid the porn here))

The next day’s business was steady, mostly regulars so familiar that you didn’t have the heart to charge them new prices. In a lull before the evening shift, you passed the time trading gossip with Alisa, a pretty barmaid with a winning smile, an eye for saps, and a love of well whiskey. She wasted none of your ample time.

“Heard there was another fight last night.”

“Bad one.” Your tone didn’t invite further discussion, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“Someone die?”

“It’s a little unclear, honestly.”

He wasn’t there that night, brooding with his glass of wine in a dark corner.  Nor was he there the next, or the next, or the next. A fortnight passed before you came to the inevitable conclusion. If he was dead, bled out on some street corner, no one had bothered to report it. A pity, Alisa offered, he had tipped well.

* * *

If he was alive, he’d cleared out that morning with the largest smugglers’ crew, hauling an unprocessed spice shipment. The stuff would be ruined by an incoming storm that was threatening to flood the low-lying land that the criminals had claimed as their own. It was still pouring down rain when you came in to work, and you were shocked to see the dark-haired, darker-eyed man walk through the threshold, soaked from the storm. He shed a heavy cloak at the doorway before sitting down at the bar, rainwater forming little puddles underneath his stool.

With little else to do on a dead night – and Alisa agreeing to handle the overly-touchy judge who came in daily –, you struck up what could be loosely described as a conversation.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.”

You shook your head, toying with a barrag to keep your hands busy, too busy to grab a drink.

“No, I mean, are you okay?”

“I could be worse.”

You rolled your eyes, an exaggerated display of annoyance, but an effective one.

“Hey. Asshole. You know what I’m asking.”

“Like I said,” he repeated, as flat and empty as his first answer, “I’ll live.”

It was time to literally throw in the towel, and you sighed before turning away to grab a glass and bottle. Good stuff, too.  You turned your head back to look at him.

“Yours is a red, right?”

“Yes,” he began to reach into his pocket, but a sharp tut stopped him.

“Don’t worry about it. On the house.”

He looked at the full glass, then at you, then back at the glass before raising it to his lips, staining them deep red.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, hey – do you have any plans tonight?”

He blinked in response, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips twisted for just a second into a frown.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, if you don’t – there’s a lot of slime that comes trawling out on a night like this. If it’s not too much trouble – I could really use someone a little tougher to walk me home? It’s only ten minutes away.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

You shrugged, casting your eyes to the side and shrugging.

“You took on five guys in a bar fight and you’re still here, so…”

* * *

“At least come inside,” you dragged him over the threshold and into your apartment.

He was shaking his head, almost twitching, reaching backwards for the doorhandle. You caught his hand before he could meet it.

“It’s pouring out there. You’ll catch your death.”

“What?”

You rolled your eyes, groaning in frustration.

“You’re not going back out there, I’ve already decided it. Sit down, make yourself comfortable.”

You left him in the sitting room, slipping away to dry your hair and change out of your beer-and-otherwise soaked work clothes into a soft grey dress. You stopped in the kitchen, poured two generous glasses of brandy, and walked back in to see him, still wet and looking more than a bit put out on your sofa.

“Something to warm up,” you said to him as you sat down beside him. He set it down on the table, pushing it to the far side.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” You swirled your glass, voice lilting in mock ignorance.

“Being kind to me.”

You laughed, maybe even a little derisively, and with a light touch let your free hand linger on his shoulder.

“Take a wild guess.”

You were so close now, the beads of water running down from his hair landing on your shoulder, your legs pressed together, only separated by the fabric of his trousers.

He didn’t have a chance to guess before you’d shown him, ghosted a kiss against his neck, watching for his reaction. He stiffened, after a moment you felt him exhale unsteadily, his breath hitching.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you started to apologise as you moved away, but he grabbed your thigh and squeezed hard, one hand almost enough to wrap around it.

“No,” he paused for a second, cleared his throat. Licked his lips. “I just wasn’t – I wasn’t expecting that.”

You laughed at this admission, setting your glass down beside his before swinging your free leg over him to straddle his lap. He growled, his hands finding your hips, his fingers gripping them as you ground against him, friction from the rough fabric of his trousers making you moan as you rode him. With one hand tangled in his dripping wet hair and the other toying with the hem of his shirt, you laid hot, short, sloppy kisses along his jaw and jugular, nipping the skin at the base of his neck and sucking softly. When you snaked your hand up to stroke his chest he groaned, rolling his hips up to meet yours.

“You should get out of those. Warm up,” you whispered into his shoulder.

“Think you’re right.”

“Come on,” you got up shakily, “bedroom’s this way.”

 

 

“Just lie back, just like that,” you purred as he sprawled out onto your bed, “and try to enjoy yourself.”

On all fours above him, you kissed him for only a moment, before moving, latching on and sucking hard, nipping at his flesh as you made your way down the length of him. You took your time savouring how he moaned when you took his nipple in your mouth, how his breath hitched when you grasped the base of his cock, how his eyes looked at you, half-lidded, from above as you licked a stripe along the underside of his shaft.

You dragged your free hand over his thigh, letting the nails scrape his skin before using your knuckles to massage his balls, constantly watching as you ran your tongue over the length of him again and again, rolling the head of his cock with your tongue. He whimpered, barely audible, when you flicked the tip of your tongue against the slit of his head, tasting the slick precum that had seeped out, but it wasn’t until he’d tossed his head back, his hips bucking into the air that you took him in your mouth, relaxing your throat as you swallowed against him.

You had almost fit him entirely in your mouth, coarse black curls tickling your nose as you sucked his cock, listening intently as he moaned under your touch.

“Fuck- going to-“ his voice broke off into a groan that came up from the very pit of his stomach, long and low.

“Mmmm,” you hummed an acknowledgement around his cock, swiping your tongue just under the head, just enough to make him whine, high pitched and desperate, before his cock twitched slightly and he thrust his hips up from the bed and into your face. His cum was salty and bitter, but you had barely managed to swallow before he’d sat up and pulled you into both his lap and a kiss filled with plenty of passion, but no lust, no immediacy.

It was almost sweet how hurt he looked when you pulled away.

“Just a second, be right back.”

You dashed to the kitchen, filling a glass with water before walking back.

“Sorry. Something caught in my throat,” you smiled, set the half-full cup down on your bedside bureau. He took your hand, dragging you back down to lie on top of him, his broad chest flush with your back. His breath was hot against your neck as his lips peppered your shoulders with kisses, one calloused hand cradling your breast before trailing down your side, the other playing with your hair, twirling it between his fingers. You hummed, et him explore as he was wont, feeling his fingers slip between your legs to find you wet and ready for him, arching your back impatiently in anticipation of his fingers filling you, fucking you, but no relief came.

Instead, he’d pulled back, his thumb stroking the crease of your thigh.

“I’m – I’m sorry, about-“

“Stop that,” you cut him off quickly, twisting around to face him, “everything’s fine.”

“It’s really not.”

“We’ve got all night. You’ve got time to make it up to me. Everything’s just fine,” you laid a soft kiss on his lips before he could protest, only pulling away when you felt his arms move to circle you, keeping you in place.

 “It’s just…it’s been a long time since I’ve done this. Especially with someone who wasn’t being paid.”

“I don’t believe that.”

His deepset eyes darted away, unwilling to meet yours. You giggled, drawing one hand up to cup his jawline, running your thumb along the ragged scar tissue that cut across his cheek.

“Doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter.”

You kissed him again, more forcefully, pulling his hair and swirling your tongue against his, him returning it more insistently, his hands now kneading your arse, one arm coming underneath to wrench your thighs apart.

“Fuck,” you gasped out into his mouth. Three of his fingers curled up inside you, and you moaned as you rubbed yourself against the palm of his hand, the toughened skin dragging the hood of your clit.

“More,” you begged, unsatisfied with only a taste of him, clenching around his fingers as he slowly fucked you with them.

“It’s not enough,” you whined, arms wrapped around his neck, grinding against him, “I need more.”

“You want more?”

“Yes,” it was desperate, you didn’t care, you needed more of him, needed him to fuck you.

“What do you want?” His fingers began to move faster, creating slick, wet sounds as you rocked onto them

“Fuck me, please, fuck me. Want you inside me, want you to fuck me, want to cum on you, want your cock. Please, please,” you begged in one breath, burying your face in his hair, feeling your cheeks burning red with embarrassment at your own words. You felt him withdraw, leaving you empty again. You moaned in frustration.

“Move, please.”

You didn’t have to, he’d already rolled you over, pinning your underneath him. He stared unblinking down at you, his eyes bottomless and pupils blown wide as he licked each finger clean, his pink, swollen lips wrapping perfectly around them. He never took his eyes off you, watching as you bit your lip and squirmed under him, body crying out for his attention.

“You liked that?”

You nodded, hoping he’d take pity on you, let you cum so he could watch, _whatever,_ as long as he let you cum.

He sank down to his elbows, his lips tickling your ear.

“You want this?”

“Yes, please, yes.”

He kissed your neck, fumbling blindly with one hand until you took his cock, guided him.

You moaned as he pushed completely into you, his cock so much thicker, so much harder than his fingers, the stretch sending little shocks of pleasure and stings of pain through your body.

“Fuck…so good, so good to me,” you mumbled as he began to pull back, crying out as he slammed back into you, wrapping around his waist, driving him deeper into you.

He totally surrounded you, all you could see was him, his hair falling in thick black locks, his eyes boring into you; you could smell nothing but his sweat and musk, the taste of wine – and you – still on his tongue; could hear nothing but his grunts as he thrust into you, forcing moans out from your lips. Everything was him, beautiful and dark and so, so good, the feeling of him hitting some spot deep inside you, and fuck, if it wasn’t the most amazing thing, each time his cock rammed into you the pleasure grew, until you were shaking under him, nails clawing at his back.

“Going to come – fuck, so close – _yes_ ,” you let out a soft gasp as your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing in you. In the midst of your own overwhelming pleasure you felt him cum inside you, the hot jets pouring into you. Your eyes closed involuntarily, everything was just too much, all you could do was breathe, wait for the high to pass. You felt his weight settle beside you.

It took only a few seconds for the worst of it to end, leaving your body boneless and your thoughts hazy.

“Was that good? For you?”

You let yourself give in, letting him embrace you fully, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

“That was great.”

You woke up when you felt the bed shift underneath you. The mid-day sunlight was streaming in through your bedroom window.

His breath was stale.

“Thank you,” he kissed your cheek as he sat up.

“No,” you grabbed his arm and yanked hard, bringing him down to collapse on top of you.

“Stay,” you kissed him playfully, tugging at his mess of curls that tumbled in every direction, “stay a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> What am i even doing anymore? Who knows.


End file.
